


Feyre gets it on

by Flowerzzzzzz



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Breeding, Erotica, F/M, Hot Tub, Hot Tub Sex, Kinky, Lingerie, Masturbation, Mates, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Sauna, Sex, Sex Toys, Shameless Smut, Smut, Teasing, lacy things, sauna sex, self love, there's honestly zero plot it's just porn, written while i should have been doing english homework
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-03-08 18:48:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18900520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flowerzzzzzz/pseuds/Flowerzzzzzz
Summary: Feyre is in heat and she suddenly has urges to do all sorts of things...





	1. In Heat

Feyre didn’t know what was wrong with her.

She had spent the morning roaming around the House of Wind, unsettled and unable to focus. Breakfast was a blur, and she’d tried to focus in the library by studying books on painting, but even the usually fascinating reading slipped from her focus. 

So Feyre strode through the halls, alone in the majestic open-air dwelling, growing more and more frustrated by the moment. It felt like she was forgetting something, like there was a nagging sensation at the back of her mind, only she couldn’t tell what it was. 

There wasn’t even anyone around to snap at, like she usually did when she was irritated - Feyre had chosen to spend the week at the House of Wind to get some peace and quiet from the rowdy Inner Circle - so she was forced to growl at the paintings of ugly old men and screaming babies that lined the basement halls. In fact, it seemed like the birds and small creatures that usually hung around the House of Wind had fled, as if they sensed Feyre’s growing frustration.

Her only reprieve came at mid-morning, when Mor and Cassian winnowed in to drop off some supplies. It was part of a usual, daily errand, but Feyre practically cried with joy when she saw them, and tackled Mor with a hug.

“Mor, thank the gods!” She exclaimed, while Mor hugged her back with a confused expression on her face. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I have to get out of here, have to DO something -”

“Oh, I know exactly what’s wrong with you,” Cassian said knowingly. Feyre extracted herself from Mor’s arms and stared at him, confused. To her surprise, Mor’s expression of surprise had been replaced with amusement and pity.

Cassian cocked his head, smirking. “The stench is obvious, Feyre dear. Didn’t Rhys tell you about this?”

Irritation flared back up in Feyre. “Tell me about what?” She growled. 

“Feyre,” Mor said, much more gently, “you’re in heat.”

“What?” Feyre furrowed her brow. “In heat? What does that even mean?”

“It’s very rare,” Mor explained. “Most fae experience it only once every few years. It’s much like the animals of the forest whose blood we share - when a female goes into heat, she is primed and ready to produce children, and males all about will take notice. It’s quite distracting for some, actually.” 

She looked pointedly at Cassian. Feyre now realized he had backed away from the two of them, arms tensed, a hungry look gleaming in his eyes.

“Stop glaring!” He shot at Mor. “I’m leaving while I’m still in control of myself. The scent’s getting to me already.” He turned to Feyre and snorted, obviously enjoying her predicament. “Good luck. I’ll see you in a few days, when it’s all worn off.”

With that, the male fae winnowed away and was gone.

“Bastard,” Feyre sighed. “Mor, what am I supposed to do?”

“Well, you have a few options,” Mor said, setting down the supplies she was carrying and dusting her hands off. “If you do desire children, now is the perfect time for conception. It is far more likely for young to be conceived when a female is in heat.”

An involuntary shiver ran down Feyre’s spine. She and Rhys had discussed children, but she still wasn’t sure if she was ready yet - or if she would ever be ready.

“Or,” Mor said, catching sight of Feyre’s cringe, “you can wait it out. You’ll only be in heat a few days - really not too long, if you think about it.”

“I’m going to feel like this for a few DAYS?” Feyre groaned. It felt like forever. “I couldn’t stand that! I feel like I’m going to jump out of my skin!”

“Well, you could do something about that,” Mor replied, an amused grin on her face.

“What?” Feyre snapped. “What could I possibly do?” She knew her mood was swinging hectically, but she couldn’t even be bothered to care.

“You know, there are a lot of things you can do down there that don’t involve children,” Mor said, raising her eyebrows and giving Feyre a knowing look.

“Down there? Wha-” Suddenly, Feyre understood. “Ohhh.” She whacked her forehead with her palm. “Mor, I’m so dumb. How am I even gonna last a day?”

Mor laughed. “Don’t worry about it. We all have to go through it at some point or another. The best solution is to distract yourself while you wait it out.”

Feyre sighed. “I’ll just have to try my best.”

“Have fun, sister!” Mor waved goodbye. “I gotta head back. If I see Rhys, I’ll send him up here.” With a suggestive wink, she winnowed away, leaving Feyre alone in the room.

The mention of her mate’s name put all sorts of ideas into her head. Now that she knew what she was up against, Feyre knew she could overcome these next few days - and already, plenty of dirty thoughts were flooding her mind. She felt her body shifting in response, yearning for more as she stood thinking through dozens of scenarios, each more delicious than the last.

Oh, yes. Feyre was going to enjoy this.


	2. The Closet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre finds some lacy things to play with ;)

Now that Feyre knew the cause of her restlessness, she suddenly had a one-track mind. Striding through the maze of corridors and hallways to a very specific closet near the basement baths, she could barely stop thinking about the possibilities, her mind becoming more and more frenzied with every passing minute. Her breathing quickened as she approached the nondescript wooden door. A knot seemed to be forming at the apex of her thighs as she thought about what would come next. 

Feyre opened the door and a grin curled up her lips. Magical candles flickered to light within the expansive stone closet, and the sound of running water echoed gently from the nearby baths. But the treasure the closet held was even more wonderful: lacy scraps of lingerie, delicate panties and ribboned bralettes and netted corsets of all kinds.

Ever since their first months together as a mated pair, it had been a sort of inside joke for Rhys to buy Feyre lacy little things like these, and she would show them off to him in private performances that always ended in lots of sex. As months turned to a year and then two, neither of them tired of the game and a drawer of lace turned into an entire closet - the one Feyre was standing in now. 

Rows of hangers and drawers lined the walls, and on the opposite wall a giant mirror reflected the entire scene. Feyre stepped into the room, leaving the door wide open behind her - she wasn’t worried about anyone finding her in this empty building. She eyed the lacy bits and things hungrily, brushing her fingers through the fabric. She was wearing a tunic and leggings, but she longed to tear them off then and there and use her fingers on the closet floor. The spot between her thighs ached at the thought, and she felt her underwear growing damp. 

But Feyre restrained herself. She wanted to show herself the love she knew she deserved - she wanted to pleasure her own body with all the care and delicacy that Rhysand usually took. 

So she found a sheer lacy corset and ribboned panties and pulled them off the rack. Turning her back from the mirror, Feyre pulled off her tunic and undershirt carefully. She felt her nipples harden against the cool air and a tingle of pleasure ran through her. She hooked the lacy corset on, feeling the soft fabric hug her curves. 

Next, she slid off her pants and underwear, smirking at the dark wet spot already evident on her underwear. She pulled on the panties and let her fingers brush up her thighs, being sure not to touch the mound at the top, right in between where her thighs met. She ached already to feel her fingers, but refused to give in to the urge, feeling a thrill at the yearning that coursed through her.

After lacing up the underwear and corset all the way, Feyre took a deep breath and turned to look in the mirror. Her body was reflected back at her, from toetip to wavy hair, exquisite in every way. Feyre’s breath was taken away from her at the sight -  _ This must be how Rhys sees me, _ she thought dizzily. Horny and already turned on, she wanted nothing more than to run her fingers over her body. But she forced herself to drink in the sight first. 

First, her soft, luscious hair, cascading over her shoulders and down her back. Feyre tugged at her hair with a finger as her eyes travelled down her high cheekbones, full pink lips, and soft jawline before trailing to her faint collarbones and chest. Her breasts, round and full, barely contained by the scraps of fabric. The lacy corset was pale gray, and practically see-through - frills lined the top, with ribbons holding together the two pieces of velvet that barely held Feyre’s breasts. Her hardened nipples were evident through the thin fabric, and she yearned to touch them, but held herself back.

Next, she looked further, down her smooth navel, past her belly button, to the panties sitting low on her hips. Curls of dark hair peeked out from above the panties, hinting at what lay beneath. The thin embroidered fabric barely hid her mound, and the gray fabric was already dark with Feyre’s wetness. She absentmindedly trailed a finger over her lips, shivering with imagined sensation. Her pale thighs, strong and soft, were fully visible, as were her muscular thighs and steady feet. 

But Feyre’s gaze flashed back upwards, her eyes dark with wanting. Finally she let her fingers fall down to where she yearned them to be. Her right hand covered her breast, her left drifting down lower to the spot between her thighs. She rested it there, legs squeezing together with anticipation, while she used her right thumb to draw small circles over her peaked nipple. Whimpering softly, she slowly arched her back into her touch, bringing her index finger to her thumb to pinch the nipple and roll it between her fingers. 

Gods, Feyre hadn’t felt this much sensation since the night she first mated with Rhys. It was like her every sense were heightened, every nerve alight with the fire of being in heat. She caught her own eye in the mirror and gazed lustily at herself, one hand grasping roughly at her breast, the other cupped between her thighs, sore and aching for even more touch, more feeling. 

Boldly she slipped her fingers under the corset, relishing the sensation of her own warm skin, feverish with want. Stretching the fabric, she palmed her breast roughly, squeezing it and massaging it in just the right way. But it wasn’t enough - she brought her other hand up, fingers fumbling with the laces of the corset, loosening them until the fabric slid down, revealing her poised pink nipples in the soft golden light.

Feyre moaned, biting her lip as she rubbed both nipples at once, shivering against the feeling of her own well-practiced fingers. She loved Rhys, and sex with him was definitely amazing, but no one could ever pleasure her like herself, because no one knew her like herself - no one else knew the desires buried deep in her mind, the ones that only came out when she was alone with her body. 

The corset fell to the floor, forgotten, as Feyre’s eyes fluttered closed. She trailed her fingers over her breasts and sides, brushing her ribcage and travelling down to the sensitive, soft skin of her navel. Her fingertips were ever so light and feathery, the touch tingling along her nerves, sparking sensation that made her whimper and whine. Perhaps she would have been embarrassed some other time at her high pitched voice echoing along the stone halls, but she didn’t even think about it now. 

Feyre opened her slitted eyes and gazed at her reflection in the mirror. She forced her eyes to her hand, watching as her fingers brushed against the hem of the panties, her breathing shallow as she played with the lace edge. Then, eyes darkening, she trailed her thumb under the fabric and brushed it across the patch of hair covering her mound.

The sensation made her gasp, and suddenly she was dizzy with an even deeper aching. Her legs crumbled under her and Feyre stumbled to the ground until she was kneeling against the wooden floor. Recklessly she dragged a finger into the slickness between her thighs, and was rewarded with waves of aching pleasure. Feyre groaned loudly. Gods, this was better than anything she’d ever experienced before - this was sensation on a whole new level. Feverishly she wished she would go into heat more often.

By this point, she was lying on her back, legs pressed tightly together around the hand that was buried in her panties. Panting, Feyre dug her fingers deeper into the warm wet of herself, stroking unsteadily against her sensitive folds. The feeling built and built, her ache growing fiercely as the pleasure mounted. 

As she ravished herself, she felt the need for more and stuck a second hand into the now-soaking panties. While the fingers on her right hand plunged deeper and deeper into herself, Feyre’s left thumb circled her clit, rubbing the bundle of nerves just above her folds. With just a few final strokes, she brought herself over the edge with a sharp press to her clit, and lay panting as waves of pleasure washed over her on the closet floor. 


	3. The Baths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre has fun in the sauna, with a surprise appearance at the end ;)

As Feyre recovered from the intensity of her climax, laying on the wooden floor, she felt her senses come back. The candles flickered on, casting a soft golden light over the room. But to her horror, her touches had barely quelled the aching lust deep within her. The nagging pull still hung, deep in her navel, an urge that refused to be ignored. Feyre’s fingers crept towards her thighs again, almost unwillingly, her legs parting in anticipation.

But with a gasp, she restrained herself and pushed herself into a sitting position, her buttocks warm against the cool floor. Panting, Feyre caught sight of herself in the mirror - her hair was dishevelled, her face reddened, sweat making her limbs sticky. Suddenly, the soothing splashing of the baths next door seemed very appealing. And there were all sorts of toys she and Rhys kept in there just for occasions like these…

Feyre pushed herself up from the floor, unsteadily rising to a standing position. However, as she stood up, her thighs rubbed together, producing a sudden burst of sensation that almost sent Feyre crumbling to the ground once more. She gritted her teeth in exasperation. Could she not even  _ walk _ without being turned on? But the urge was strong, and Feyre could barely deny herself at this point, so as she stumbled towards the closet doorway, she stuck a hand between her legs once more to soothe the ache within her.

She came twice on the way to the baths - barely ten feet down the hall, but she couldn’t hold herself back any longer. The first time she arched her back against the smooth stone walls and mewled with desire as she played with her nipples and clit; the second, she kneeled on the floor with both hands stroking her inner folds hungrily. But finally, Feyre made it to the baths, stepping into the large steamy room with a delighted sigh.

The baths were one of the largest rooms in the basement - tall, arching ceilings that stretched high above, painted with spirits laughing and playing; pale blue tiled walls that reflected the torchlight with a soft glow. It was a room Feyre came to often when she needed to clear her mind and relax

There were three baths total. The one furthest to the back was multi-levelled, a series of fountains and circular pools laid in the stone, with warm water gushing out a gargoyle spout in the wall. The largest bath, it was gentle and soothing and perfect for actually bathing. Several shelves of colorful bottles lined the walls nearby, filled with soaps and lotions, along with fluffy white towels.

The next bath was the cooler one, deep and oval-shaped and filled with frigid water fresh from the mountainside outdoors. Feyre often plunged into it and swam laps when she needed to take her mind off of whatever was troubling her. She could easily get her blood pumping and her muscles working, but that wasn’t quite what she had in mind right now.

Instead, Feyre headed straight for the last bath - the sauna, along the right wall of the room. Sunken low into the tile floor, the sauna’s jets bubbled enticingly, steam rising off of the pool and drifting through the air. That was where Feyre spent most of her time with Rhysand when they bathed together, and thinking of Rhysand was exactly what she wanted right now.  _ Gods, _ she thought bitterly, walking toward the sauna,  _ If only he wasn’t out of range right now. The fun we could have…  _

But she cut herself off as the warm air drifted past her and she gave a shiver of anticipation, the steaming water calling to her naked body. The hair along her arms rose as Feyre stopped at the edge of the pool, eying the water. The things she could do with those magical jetstreams bubbling up from the bottom of the bath…

She could feel herself getting wet once more, her own arousal rubbing between her thighs, so Feyre quickly found the nearby shelf that she and Rhys kept stocked for times like these. After years of being mates, they’d gotten quite adventurous, and had incorporated all sorts of toys into their sex life. But right now, Feyre was going for the basics. She grabbed an orange glass bottle filled with water-safe lubricant, and a piece of soapstone that had been carved into the shape of Rhysand’s member. Smiling at the memory of trying to get Rhysand to pose for a carving - it had been both very stressful and very rewarding - Feyre gripped the stone firmly with her hands as she descended slowly into the water.

The hot water was like a shock to her system. Feyre gasped as she felt her tensed muscles relax all at once, almost as if they had been aching for this very thing. She eagerly stepped the rest of the way down the steps into the water until she stood with only her shoulders and neck above the water, the warmth soothing deep in her bones and pressing against her. Feyre’s eyelids fluttered closed, and she drifted dizzily over to the side of the pool, where a ledge was built in for sitting.

However, the instant she drew herself onto the ledge, the jetstream of bubbles began hitting right between her thighs and Feyre’s eyes flew open with a gasp. She had to grip the edge of the pool to stop from squirming and mewling helplessly against the pressure - the intense sensation was deeply pleasurable, pressing right against her inner core where she longed for more. Feyre pressed herself deeper against the jetstream, arching her back and whining as the flow of water hit her at just the right spot, the button above her folds. Gods, if she didn’t stop she would find her release just here. 

But she still gripped the soapstone member in her hand, and after one glance at it Feyre knew what she wanted. Reluctantly she drew herself away from the jetstream, her thighs unconsciously squeezing together as the yearning continued to thrum through her body. She uncorked the bottle of lubricant and dipped three fingers into the slippery liquid, drawing it out and rubbing her fingers all along the soapstone to coat it fully. Her mouth watered as she ran her thumb along it from the head all the way down to the base and back up again, the lubricant oozing and dripping from her fingers. 

Then Feyre sat back against the edge of the pool, sinking into the warm water, and spread her legs wide. She held the soapstone in one hand and brought the head down to rest against her inner thighs. With a practiced grip, she touched the head to the outer edge of her folds, and ran it lightly along her entrance - never slipping inside, just bringing it up and down her lower lips, barely brushing against the sensitive skin within. The teasing motion was overwhelming, and Feyre kept her hand steady even as her thighs widened further, her back arching involuntarily, her other hand gripping the ledge tightly to keep from delving those fingers inward and reaching her release too soon.

It was a game she played with herself when she wanted a certain type of release, and sometimes Rhysand helped her play it - he knew just how Feyre liked to beg and yearn for pleasure. But now she was yearning for herself, only herself, and just when Feyre thought she could take it no longer she allowed herself to dip the stone a little further in, to brush it against her button and slide the head of the member through her folds, slowly and sensually, rubbing at the soft skin. She ached against it, and pushed the member deeper, moaning loudly as it entered her again and again, each time a little fuller, each time a little longer. Soon Feyre was plunging the member into herself all the way, her entrance filled to the brim and pleasure washing over her in waves, her inner core throbbing with the heady feeling of it all inside of her. She thrust her hips against it, riding the member as her hand pushed it deeper and deeper into her.

By this point her writhing had brought her to the end of the ledge, and she was almost standing, her body supported only by the water and her shaky legs. Suddenly, a delicious idea came to Feyre’s head, and desire spun through her again. She returned to the ledge, but on all fours this time - her knees braced on the ledge, one hand on the side of the pool as the other stroked the member up and down within her. But Feyre positioned herself just right so that the jet of water was pointed straight between her thighs. Legs spread out, she lowered herself to the jetstream, thighs grazing her calves as she knelt over the stream of pressurized water and bubbles. Groaning at the sensation, she then continued with the member - mounting it, her thighs squeezing together and her hips thrusting rhythmically, her entire body moving against her hand, breasts swinging back and forth, until - 

“I - oh - Rhysand!” Feyre gasped loudly as her release came, waves of pleasure crashing through her as she prolonged it with her fingers on her clit, rubbing and squeezing. Images of her mate’s body filled her mind, and she moaned, languishing in the thoughts.

But why had she so suddenly thought of him? Disoriented, Feyre kept her fingers against her folds as the last waves of pleasure rolled through her, but something about the room had changed… There was almost a new scent in the steamy, warm air…

“You called?” A deep, rumbling voice cut through her thoughts. Gasping, Feyre turned and looked over her shoulder to see Rhysand himself standing there in the entrance to the baths, leaning against the doorway with an amused grin on his face. 


	4. Rhys Finally Arrives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhys arrives and the two get down to business (or rather, Feyre makes Rhys get down to business)

“You called?” A deep, rumbling voice cut through her thoughts. Gasping, Feyre turned and looked over her shoulder to see Rhysand himself standing there in the entrance to the baths, leaning against the doorway with an amused grin on his face. He was still dressed in fighting leathers and must have just returned from his mission. However, there was something predatory in Rhysand’s gaze as his eyes travelled across Feyre’s flushed face, her back arched and breasts perked just right, on all fours against the sauna ledge with her ass in the air and her hand between her thighs.

“Rhysand,” Feyre said breathlessly, still rubbing against her clit with her thumb slowly as she met his gaze. “You’re back.”

“And you’re in heat,” Rhys said, his eyes dark with something close to desire. He snapped his fingers and his fighting leathers were gone, replaced with his normal clothing. “The scent is overwhelming, Feyre, gods - do you have any idea what this does to me?”

Feyre’s eyes drifted to his hips. Based on the bulge already forming there, she had a pretty good idea. But now that her mate was here, she was in the mood for some fun. “Oh, Rhys, I really couldn’t tell.” She stood up on the ledge, slowly turning to face him, making sure he saw every inch of her soaking wet body. She kept her hand between her legs, stroking deep into her inner folds, the movement heavily pronounced so he saw every finger as she pleasured herself. “I think you’ll have to explain.”

Rhysand’s darkened gaze was locked on her hand, on her thumb which was now pressing against her clit. The thick scent that Feyre had come to identify as his own arousal was wafting about the room, making her mouth water at the thought of it. But she forced herself to ignore it and smirk at him playfully.

“That,” Rhys finally said, managing to speak. “ _ That _ is what you’re doing to me.”

Feyre simpered, enjoying the power she held over him. “Oh, so you like this?” She spread her folds wide with one hand to give him a better view as she dipped a finger inside of herself, shivering with pleasure. “Or this?” She took the finger up to her lips and sucked on it, swirling her tongue and tasting her own arousal as a growl of pleasure rose from Rhysand’s throat.

“Feyre,” he said, voice husky with arousal, “I swear, if you keep doing this…”

“What?” She said softly, her innocent voice at total odds with the grin on her face. “What’ll happen if I keep doing this, Rhys?” As she spoke, she stepped backwards onto the edge of the pool and sat down, legs spread to give him the best view possible, arousal coating her thighs.

Rhys groaned and leaned back against the wall. “You want to know what will happen, Feyre?” He fumbled with his pants and shoved them down, tearing off his shirt until he was completely nude in front of Feyre. His body glistened with steam and his member stood up, bulging and long. “This is what will happen.” His eyes focused on Feyre’s folds, Rhys took his member in one hand and began to run his fingers along it, pumping slowly up and down the sensitive skin.

Feyre smirked. Just what she had wanted. Ensuring his eyes were still on her, she let one hand slowly travel up to her breasts, her nipples hardened with desire. Rhys sucked in a sharp breath as she began rolling one nipple slowly between her thumb and forefinger, pinching it lightly. He pumped harder along his member as she squeezed her breasts, first one then the other, now running a single finger in circles about the sensitive pink skin circling her other nipple. “You like this, Rhys?”

“Gods - Feyre -” His breath was coming in short gasps as Rhysand thrust into his hand, his member practically throbbing with desire. “I can’t -”

Feyre squeezed her nipple, hard, and allowed a whine of pleasure to escape her throat. “Gods, this feels good.” Keeping her eyes locked on Rhys, ensuring he was watching, she dipped her other hand between her thighs and stroked her folds, thighs spread so he could see every movement of her fingers. “What about this?” She began thrusting her hips against her hand as she pleasured herself, the motion she used so often to mount her mate and ride his member.

It worked. With a cry, Rhys’ release poured out of him, the white liquid spilling across the tile floor. He moaned and slumped against the wall, eyes still darkened. “Well, you got what you wanted, Feyre dear.”

Feyre grinned. “I did.” She got up and walked over to her mate, his tall, muscular body towering over her. She stood in front of him, drenched in her own arousal and surrounded by his release, hands on her hips. “But Rhys, I’m more horny than I’ve ever been in my  _ life _ . I’m most certainly not done with you yet.”


End file.
